The Marquess (35 page)

This wasn’t the way the evening was supposed to go.
She tugged back. He pulled her onward.

She had no intention of making her debut in society by being
dragged about the room. She resisted. The marquess glared. She smiled. He
growled and continued across the floor.

“Would you care to tell me where we are going?”
she asked as politely as she could while engaging in this tug-of-war. “If
you wish to meet Neville, he’s no doubt in one of those antechambers off
to the right.”

“I don’t wish to meet Neville. I don’t
wish to meet Wellington. I don’t wish to meet another damned soul. This
is a pointless waste of time. We’ll find the damned journals and then
decide what to do about them. I don’t know why I let the lot of you talk
me into this.”

“Because you thought we’d back down when
everyone screamed in horror and ran from the room. You thought you’d be
back at Arinmede the next day.”

He jerked her through the open French doors and unless she
wished to struggle, Dillian had to follow. She continued relentlessly, “Only
now you’re discovering you’re not the creature of horror you
thought, and it disagrees with you. My sympathies, my lord. Did you merely
borrow those clothes from the earl so you need not waste your coins on them?”

He dragged her to the stone wall surrounding the balcony,
out of the light. “I bought them so I would not shame you, more fool I.”

Dillian had only time to catch her breath at the glitter in
his eyes before he had her pulled up against his chest, his mouth grinding into
hers.

She didn’t fight him. She knew the futility of
fighting the inevitable. She could feel the desire surge between them, the
power and elation of it as they succumbed to something far beyond the
meaningless social amenities forced upon them this last hour.

Her arms circled his shoulders, and she clung tightly as he
drew her upward into his embrace. She surrendered to the heat of his mouth,
welcoming the invasion that followed. She understood the need pouring between
them as she understood nothing else.

Gavin set her aside so quickly that Dillian’s fingers
still clung to his coat. Cool spring air rushed between them, chilling her
heated skin. She jerked her gloved hands back and ran them up and down her bare
arms for warmth.

She glared at him through the darkness, trying to divine his
intentions, too frozen by the swiftness of their separation to think coherently
at all.

“Who is this Lady Blanche everyone speaks of?”
he demanded, in a tone not his own.

Dillian stared, wondering if he’d gone mad or if
she’d mistaken him for the wrong marquess. She had her back turned to the
doorway, but as she glanced away in confusion, she caught movement near the
glass. Understanding dawned at once, and she made a play at shrugging her
shoulders.

“A young friend of mine, my lord. A house fire left
her exceedingly distressed. As I told Lady Castlereagh, she has gone to France
to recuperate. Why do you ask?”

“Probably because he knows you’re a liar, Miss
Reynolds.”

The Duke of Anglesey strolled onto the balcony, eyeing them
with displeasure. He stood only half a head taller than Dillian, yet he
confronted Gavin with all the confidence of a man certain of his place in life.

His fashionably tailored frock coat and exquisitely tied
cravat should have put Effingham’s careless attire to shame, but “exquisite”
and “careless” presented two entirely different ideas in
Dillian’s eyes. She disliked dandies in general, Neville in particular,
and she had discovered a growing fondness for antiquation in dress. Give her
Gavin’s cape any day over Neville’s impeccably tied neck cloth.

“Why, how charming to see you, too, Neville. Surely,
you’ve grown an inch since I saw you last, although it does seem all in your
head. Effingham, here’s the man you seek. His Grace, the Duke of Anglesey,
may I present the Marquess of Effingham. I’m certain the two of you have
much in common, so I’ll leave you to yourselves.”

* * * *

Gavin lost count of the number of subtle and not so subtle
insults Dillian wedged into her little speech before she attempted to escape.
He caught her arm before she could flee. He couldn’t take his eyes off
her in this crowd. He wouldn’t have any more near abductions hanging over
his head. He would see her home, and with any luck, into her bed before this
night ended. He wouldn’t trust this bloody duke for two seconds.

“I’m not difficult to find,” Neville
responded coldly. “You have an odd manner of seeking me.” He turned
his hard glare on Dillian, as if the fault lay with her.

“I allowed Miss Reynolds to distract me. I apologize.
Would it be possible to call on you someday to speak on some business matters
inappropriate for discussion at this time?” Gavin kept his hand firmly on
Dillian’s arm, although she did her best to twist it away.

“I cannot imagine what we have to discuss, unless you
have some means of coercing my cousin’s whereabouts out of this fiend in
female clothing,” Neville replied.

As the duke turned to leave, Dillian cried after him, “If
you do not return my father’s papers I’ll see that Blanche never
speaks to you again!”

Gavin didn’t know whether to slap his hand over her
mouth or admire her courage. Already puffed up by his own consequence, the
young duke puffed even more with fury. He swung around and glared at Dillian to
the extent that Gavin thought of jerking her behind him for protection.

“Those papers were in Blanche’s safekeeping. You
will see them if and when she returns to claim them.”

“Those papers are my property! That is thievery!”

Several people had drifted to the open doors at the sound of
rising voices. Gavin tugged Dillian’s arm to apprise her of the
situation, but she merely turned her hostile glare in his direction. Before she
could say more, Gavin interceded.

“I dislike intruding on what is apparently a family argument.
If you will excuse me ….” He dropped Dillian’s arm and
started in the direction of the door.

“Far be it from me to interrupt your little coze,”
Neville said snidely. “Miss Reynolds is no relation of mine. You are
welcome to her.” With that, he strode briskly from the balcony,
disappearing behind the drapery within.

“He has those papers,” Dillian complained. “If
there is anything in them, Dismouth will know soon enough, and then all the
world will know. I can’t afford a solicitor to sue for them.”

“There are other means of obtaining what you want. Let
us leave before we provide any more free entertainment.” Gavin steered
her toward the glass doors, but she resisted.

He had no grand desire to return to that hothouse full of
overblown orchids, either, but even his American manners told him they
couldn’t properly sneak out through the gardens. He despised being gawked
at, but knowing the evening had finally ended and he had only a few more
minutes until freedom made it easier. He glanced at her impatiently.

She stared at someone just beyond the crowded circle near
the doors. “Reardon! I cannot let him see me.”

Rather than follow her glance, Gavin scowled. “If you
keep any more secrets, they will surely spill all over the floor one of these
days. We will simply march through the crowd and out the front door. He’s
not likely to notice.”

“You don’t understand! Reardon is one of my
father’s friends. He’d see me at once and expect to be greeted, but
he knows me as Whitnell, not Reynolds. It could get extremely sticky should
anyone overhear.” She lowered her voice. “He was one of the
soldiers at the crossroads that night. Neville has apparently hired him.”

Gavin thought she made things unnecessarily complicated. She
ought never to have called herself Reynolds in the first place. He could see no
reason why it mattered one way or another what people called her. Michael
called himself anything that came to mind, and no one cared overmuch. He
didn’t think he had much hope of telling Dillian that.

He’d accomplished all he’d intended to
accomplish tonight. Society knew him now. He could make his own inquiries. With
a sigh of resignation and a burning desire to get out of here and into
Dillian’s bed, Gavin took the matter into his own hands.

“Faint,” he ordered, reaching down to lift her
from the ground. “Close your eyes and go limp.” Without further
warning, he caught her behind the knees and picked her up.

He didn’t give Dillian time to call him all the names
undoubtedly flying to the end of her tongue. Wisely heeding his words, she
collapsed in his arms. Perhaps women could faint from embarrassment. Gavin
didn’t think Dillian much capable of it, but she put on a good show as he
strode into the shocked crowd carrying his limp burden.

Lady Darley and several other matrons hurried to his side,
exclaiming in hushed peeps much like baby birds. Gavin didn’t attempt to
translate their protests. “The lady fainted. Show me where to take her
while someone calls for her carriage.”

They led him down a path opening directly through the crowd.
Gavin tried ignoring the shocked stares, the words whispered behind gloved
hands, but he felt as if all the world stared at him. He resented becoming the
object of such attention, but he merely set his jaw and continued on his chosen
path. If they needed a tame lion to stare at, so be it.

Lady Darley came to his rescue, leading him into a small
salon while sending a servant hastening for her carriage. “What happened?
Lay her down here, if you please.” She indicated a backless divan.

“No doubt corset’s too tight,” Gavin
responded wickedly, feeling Dillian stir in his arms. “Mustn’t wear
them often, I suspect.”

Dillian skewered him with her glare as he lay her down, but
she held that fiendish tongue of hers while Lady Darley remained present. “I
am quite fine, now, thank you. You may stop hovering.”

“Now that we have made complete spectacles of
ourselves, I think we best depart.” Gavin turned to Dillian’s
chaperon. “Lady Darley, if you wish to enjoy the remainder of the
evening, I will gladly escort Miss Reynolds home. I have no desire to linger
any longer.”

Too shrewd to miss the looks the young couple gave each
other, knowing the entire meeting had been set up deliberately for some reason
beyond her knowledge, Lady Darley shook her head disapprovingly. “There
is sufficient talk as it is. I think the evening shall be most boring after
this. I’m ready to retire if Miss Reynolds is. We thank you very much for
your concern, my lord.”

Gavin bowed before the knowledge in her eyes. “We are
most grateful for your help, my lady. If you are certain you wish to depart, I
will find my own way home.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll explain any of
this?” she asked with interest.

“Someday, perhaps, my lady, although you must ask Miss
Reynolds for answers. I give you good day, then.” He bowed and walked out
of the room, counting it one of the harder chores in his life. Dillian lounging
defenselessly on a sofa made Gavin’s blood run cold and hot at the same
time. He had no intention whatsoever of letting her leave this house without
his protection. Neville had looked fit to kill, and he still didn’t know
how this Reardon person fell into the scheme of things.

Miss Dillian Reynolds Whitnell had a lot to explain. He had
every intention of sticking close to her side until she explained it to his
satisfaction.

“Did she deny it?” the Earl of Dismouth asked,
sipping his brandy in the study of Anglesey’s town house.

“I didn’t ask. All the evidence is clear.”
The Duke of Anglesey looked disgusted as he crossed the study and helped
himself to another glass of brandy. “I can’t believe I was so
blind. The daughter of a traitor living in my own household! My word, she had
enormous nerve living so boldly under my nose. What in the name of heaven could
she possibly hope to gain?”

Dismouth snorted. “Anything and everything. She has a
comfortable position and access to an extremely wealthy heiress. You said
yourself that she has alienated your cousin’s affections and kept the two
of you apart. There’s no telling what other mischief she is about.
Whitnell was a notorious troublemaker. There’s no doubt the daughter is
the same. Has your operative sent word as to your cousin’s whereabouts?”

The duke shook his head and took a healthy sip of the liquor
before speaking. “They’ve traced her to the south of France,
according to the reports I’ve received. That’s the same as Miss Rey...
Whitnell said this evening. I can’t imagine who Blanche travels with,
other than her maid. I have someone else working on that angle.”

“For all you know, your men are off after a red
herring. Miss Whitnell could very well have your cousin under lock and key
somewhere. She may have set the fire deliberately for her own purposes. This
works out very well for her. If she can keep Lady Blanche hidden until she
turns twenty-one and continues her influence...”

Neville set the glass down hard and paced the carpet. “I
can’t believe Blanche so weak-minded. She is young, yes, but she is not
stupid. She must know what is happening. Unless she’s painfully hurt...”
He gritted his teeth and swung around to face his older companion. “What
in hell can I do?”

The earl stared thoughtfully into his own glass. “Well,
there are those papers you removed from the vault. Your Miss Whitnell seems
most eager to lay her hands on them of a sudden.” He looked up to watch
the young duke’s expression. “If they’re Whitnell’s,
they may contain information valuable to the government. For your cousin and
for the security of the country, we should possibly take a look at them.”

Neville set his jaw and glared out at the night sky through
the study window. “They are not mine to dispose of as I wish. I handed
the ones I found over to my solicitor for safekeeping, thinking they belonged
to Blanche. He is not likely to give them over without Blanche’s
permission. Winfrey has the stubbornness of a mule when it comes to moral
authority.”